


What We Leave Behind (And We All Still Die)

by Heere_in_the_bathroom



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Fire, Gender Dysphoria, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Panic Attacks, Please Don't Kill Me, SaveMichaelMell2k18, Suicide Attempt, Trans Michael Mell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 14:00:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heere_in_the_bathroom/pseuds/Heere_in_the_bathroom
Summary: Me? Projecting myself onto characters and making a fanfiction out of it? Yeah, that's exactly what's happening





	What We Leave Behind (And We All Still Die)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just sad, and my first fanfic, so please dont hurt me

"Get out of my way, loser." 

 

The words pierced through Michael like a knife, swirling repeatedly in his head. He's had many people call him a loser, but hearing the words from his best friend absolutely crushed him. He felt a heavy weight press on his chest, making hinges suffocated. His throat tightened and his heart was practically slamming against his chest. The bathroom faded, the colors swirling around him. Jeremy pushed past his side, slamming the door behind him. An feeble, chocked sound left his lips as he crumpled to the floor. The loud thumping of the bass taunted him, overwhelming him to the max. It was all too much. He began to shake, tears pricked his eyes. He knew he was having a panic attack, and usually he'd call for Jeremy, but that wasn't   
happening. He rocked gently, his fingers snaked their way into his hair, pulling gently. Jeremy was right, he was a loser. A lonely, introverted, antisocial loser that blocked the world out with weed and headphones. There was other things Michael was, an invalid, a stoner, but one that stood out the most, one that really cuts deep, one that keeps him awake, sobbing in the thickness of depression. He was a girl. People said it all the time, who knew that words like ma'am or young lady could leave the deepest scars. No matter what he said, what he thought, he was just an confused little girl, trying to pretend something that she's not. Tears poured down his face, the smell of smoke was suffocating.   
Wait. Smoke?   
Michael lifted his head, and his face was met with an unpleasant sting. Thick, grey smoke seeped from under the doors, and just now did he realize that the thudding of the bass was gone, and all he could hear were terrified screams  
"Fire! Everyone run!"   
Michael wanted to say that he was tempted to escape, or try to get out. But he couldn't. He could end it all here, stay in the bathroom. That way, no one could be bothered by him again. Jeremy would be fine, he has Brooke and Christine. Everyone else would be able to sigh in relief, the wannabe tranny was gone, no longer being an embarrassment to the human race. So here Michael sits, choking on the smoke, waiting for the death to take him, and give him the sweet release of nothing. Everything became hazy, and breathing was hard. His vision swarmed, but before unconsciousness enveloped him, there was a loud crash, then nothing.


End file.
